


Be Brave

by busylefeitz



Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent - All Media Types, Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, No war, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busylefeitz/pseuds/busylefeitz
Summary: One shot, Tris/Eric, Tris pov. Starts right after the knife throwing incident and then diverges from canon.
Relationships: Eric/Tris Prior
Comments: 11
Kudos: 135





	Be Brave

“I’ll have to keep an eye on you,” Eric eyes me, and I keep myself from blanching. I’m too angry to give in after he just had Four throw knives right at my ear. He steps closer so only I can see his eyes staring me down, but shouts loud enough for the rest of the initiates to hear. "We train soldiers not rebels.”

For a microsecond I think of arguing, of saying standing up for friends is not rebellious, it’s exactly what Dauntless does. But then I remember where arguing just got me and do my best to stifle my backtalk. I feign submission, nod softly, and look to my feet.

“All right, we’re done for the day. Everybody get out!” Eric orders harshly to the room.

Everyone shuffles out quickly, save Four who stays collecting knives and putting them into a leather case. Christina shoots me an apologetic (and slightly worried) expression as she hurries out behind Will and a sheepishly-avoiding-eye-contact Al.

When they are gone I stalk towards Four, a scowl returning to my face.

“You cut me.” I don’t know what else to say.

“I meant to,” Four returns without looking up from the knives.

“You meant to?” my voice rises slightly.

“You’re supposed to be smart. If I had wanted to hurt you I would have,” he huffs out at me, with one bitter flash of his hollow brown eyes.

He stomps out leaving his knives uncollected on the table. He confuses me so much I want to scream.

I am overwhelmed with frustration and I grab a knife from the table and swiftly send it flying towards the target where I stood just moments ago, the noise of it hitting the center of the wood colliding with my own exasperated scream.

I hear a chuckle come from behind me and I swing around, ready to scream at Four —how could he stay to spy on me after storming out? And why the hell is he laughing at me like I’m a joke?

But as my eyes find the source of the laughter, they connect with steely grey instead of brown.

There is a glint in these eyes—these terrifying eyes.

But for one brief moment, the almost familiar glint in them isn’t menacing, so I pause, holding my breath before it lets out all the strange and unwelcome things I want to say.

The glint spreads into a smirk, more familiar, and Eric laughs again, this time a heartier laugh that makes my blood boil, or my skin warm, or something unidentifiable.

“Cat got your tongue?” His voice is playful, with an edge I can’t let myself ignore.

“You did warn me that you’d be watching, I guess I just didn’t expect the surveillance to start so soon,” I venture, boldly and with as much confidence in my stance as I can muster, knowing the table of knives is directly between us.

“I wanted to see how you were really handling yourself after the incident,” Eric muses, “None of that ‘nodding to appease the boss’ bullshit. You can tell a lot by what a soldier does after a dressing down like that, and I wanted to know what kind of soldier you actually are.”

“And?” My voice is too eager, too desperate, and I know he can tell.

“…and what?” He toys with me.

“And—“ I’m about to ask for what I want, him to tell me what he actually thinks of me, when I suddenly realize how much I desire that, for him to tell me that.

That thought stops me.

I don’t know why I care so much what he thinks of me, but given what he thinks of most people, I have to be prepared for the worst.

I close my mouth, move towards the table, and in a move that comes from the same mysterious part of my brain that produces my occasional word vomit, I pick up the remaining knives from the table.

His eyes follow my movements but his body makes no move to block me or stop me from acquiring the only weapon in view. Although, I guess it’s not the only weapon in view, if you count the mountain of a man in front of me.

The thought brings a blush up my neck and before it spreads to my face I spin around back towards to targets and let a knife fly, landing squarely next to my previous shot.

“And—“ I continue, readying myself for another shot and not looking at him. “—what kind of soldier am I?”

Just as I am about to release my hand, sending another knife into the target, my arm is wrenched to a stop.

Eric’s large, battle-roughened hand grips my upper arm tightly and I startle, looking up at him, but don’t see the aggression I would expect from such a sudden grab.

Instead I see mischief.

“Let’s find out,” he says.

He walks over to the board and pulls the two knives out from the center, walking back towards me while he flips each precariously in either hand.

He hands both knives to me, standing so close he looms over me, and I feel the heat radiating from him and I am suddenly very aware of my own heartbeat.

I bite my lip to keep from saying something about his invasion, as I’m sure he’d call me a stiff for thinking him too close.

His eyes dart down to my mouth and his face flashes something unrecognizable for just a second before his mischievous smirk is back.

“You called me a coward earlier,” he says as he turns back to the target. It’s not lost on me that he wouldn’t look me in the eye as he accused me of this slight. A slight I know could get me killed in Dauntless. And yet, I am the one holding the knives.

“Let’s see if you were right,” he says, lining his body up with the body-shaped target etched into the wood. His muscular frame bulges past the extremities of the outline though, leaving little surrounding target even visible.

“I thought we were worried about me here, not you,” I test, buying myself some time as I turn the first knife over in my hand and try to steady myself. I already get his game. He wants to see if I will throw knives at him, if I will take my opportunity at revenge.

Part of me wants to. Wants to let a knife fly right now and knick him, just a little, somewhere he’ll see it every day and remember who gave it to him.

But part of me also wants to stab Four instead. Part of me wonders if Eric was right to test Al’s courage, and that same part of me wants him to test mine too.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, pulling me out of my internal debate. “You will be tested on how well you follow orders, something you clearly didn’t want to do for me earlier. How does that sound?” His face offers a challenge but there is still a bit of something else in his eyes.

I get into my stance, and I notice his muscles rippling, his body settling into a stiff posture.

“So you admit, then, that my standing in front of the target was pretty brave?” I can’t help myself, but I keep stalling and for some reason the snark and insubordination just keeps bursting out of my mouth.

At that, he throws his head back in a burst of laughter. It seems to help him and his body slacks a little on the board.

When he is done laughing, he looks back at my tight face and replies, “No, standing in front of this board while Four throws knives is not exactly the height of bravery, my dear little stiff, but standing in front of this board while YOU throw knives, now that—“

I cut him off with a thunk, a knife landing inches from his left thigh.

At first he looks like he might kill me, but then his face changes, into something darker but still somehow playful. “Ohh, so you’re ready now? All right stiff, let’s see what you’ve got!”

I raise my eyebrows at him and get no response, so I pick up three more knives and toss them in quick succession, landing them between his right arm and hip, above his left shoulder and above his head respectively.

He doesn't even blink.

I’d say he looked bored, except I can almost feel the tension radiating off him.

“So you can throw a knife, but can you hit a target?” he throws back casually.

“You want me to hit you?” I’m partially teasing and partially testing.

“No, and in fact, I’m very graciously trusting you not to scratch up this beautiful face of mine.”

I roll my eyes, but my eyes scan his sturdy and angular features and I can’t help but agree that he is a work of art.

I shake myself out of my reverie and return to the task at hand. “Why?” Is all I can think to ask.

“Ummm, because stiff, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s kinda my moneymaker,” he chuckles, smirking.

“Riiiight sure, I bet everyone who sees your pretty face wants a piece of you.”

“Don’t you?” He eyes me knowingly and to keep from blushing I immediately switch the conversation back to my question.

“I meant why are you trusting me?”

He thinks for a second, then offers, “Because that’s what it means to be Dauntless.”

I can’t quite read if he is being sincere. He is a bit of a puzzle to me with those stormy eyes. “To be free from the fear that I might hurt you?”

“Sure, that too, but no—to be part of Dauntless you have to trust your squadmates, trust your captain, trust your partner.”

“And you trust me?” He just looks at me, confusion clouding his features, but almost like I’m the one that said something strange. “After I just disobeyed you,” I continue to argue my point, “and talked back to you and even though I’m—“ my voice cuts off thankfully in time.

“Even though you what?”

“Even though I—I make you angry,” I stumble out.

He lets that one go, and I know he knows that wasn’t what I was intending to say.

“Yea you really do,” he chuckles. Suddenly he looks up and locks eyes with me. He pushes himself off from the board and stalks slowly towards me.

I grip the knife in my hand tighter, and don’t relax my stance.

"Should I not trust you, stiff?” His voice is gravelly, his body close enough to mine again that I can feel his breath hot on my face.

“That’s not what I—“

“Why shouldn’t I trust you? Are you keeping a secret from me?”

“No I—“

His fingers brush the hair from in front of my face and behind my right ear, and I can’t help the suck in of air. His lip twitches in a small smile at this.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Eric teases me as his fingers linger on my hair, slowly venturing back to my ear, curving along the outside until they make contact with the tiny cut from Four’s knife trick earlier.

I hiss and close my eyes and suddenly Eric’s lips are on mine.

This startles my eyes back open, but his hand on my ear has now moved to behind my head and I’m being held to him, locked in this frantic kiss.

I don’t even notice that the rest of my body has edged back towards the knife table until I feel his weight pushing me into the metal edge, the knives clattering behind me as he scoots my butt up and wedges himself between my legs

In a matter of seconds he has me pinned, his lips still violently bruising my own.

In a panic, I lift the knife in my hand to his throat, and press the tip into the soft spot below his jaw where I know there is an artery.

I don’t even realize I’m doing it until his eyes burst open and fix on mine.

I expect rage, disgust, maybe even annoyance, but not this. His eyebrows curve up and his mouth is soft, open.

Eric steps back, and I drop the knife. It clatters to the floor and just as quickly as he invaded my space he is out of reach again.

“I didn’t mean to—“

“Tris, I’m so sorry, I—“

“I don’t know why I—“

Our words overlap and our eyes search everywhere but each others’ but then my brain processes his words and somehow my name echoes through the fog of fear, shame, and panic.

 _Tris,_ he called me _Tris_.

I don’t know why but my chest squeezes and I feel a pinch in my gut.

I force my eyes to find his. “Eric, I—“

“No Tris, I—“

“ERIC!” his name explodes from my lips.

He looks more startled than I am by my outburst but his mouth closes anyway.

“I’ve never been kissed before,” I start, and I can already feel the flush pouring into my cheeks, my ears hot from the confession.

“And I wasn’t expecting it, and I panicked.”

“No this is my fault, stiff. I thought, but—“ He sighs and rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “I really misread this whole thing, fuck…”

My mind tumbles over his words. What could he have misread? Did I make him think I wanted this? Did I want this?

“Misread?” My voice comes out barely above a whisper, but I can tell by his reluctant sigh that he heard me.

He is quiet for a moment and I can see him considering his next position, his next move.

I take his silence as moment to think about my own actions. Had I really convinced him I wanted him to kiss me? He has always terrified me. And yet, there isn’t a single time in my memory that I can think of where I didn’t stand my ground, didn’t push him back with the same force he pushed me. Maybe he took it as a challenge.

He seems to be considering me, examining me, before he answers.

“Yes. I misread your… _determination_ …as passion, as…well clearly I misinterpreted. Clearly you have no interest in me, so I will leave you alone.”

His tone is almost resigned, but he makes no move to leave.

But I do. I move to leave, I convince myself to put one foot in front of the other and take this chance to get out while he has let me off the hook.

My body has other plans. Somehow instead of a step back, I have taken a step towards him, and the disappointment on his face gives way for a small spark of something else.

Since my body has betrayed me, I decide instead to make my intentions known with words. “Yes, you should leave,” I say, standing my ground.

A smirk slithers across his lips before it vanishes.

“Maybe you should make me.” He takes a step forward, only inches now from me.

I take another step, until I am crowding him the way he's done to me.

“Be brave,” he barely whispers, and I don’t know if it’s meant for me or him.

There’s a moment, like a breath, in which we both are frozen. And then in an instant I feel his lips on mine again.

But this time, I am the one throwing my weight onto him, and he is the one edging backwards until his back hits the target and I press him deeper into the wall, our bodies so close I can feel every muscle in his toned body ripple and pulse as he wraps around me, consumes me, pulls me deeper into our kiss.

I can barely contain myself, my skin is on fire and my arms pull and grip and scratch anything I can reach.

I feel, more than hear, a low growl in his chest when my tongue slides past his lips and strokes his own. When his teeth tug at my bottom lip and nip sharply, a small moan escapes from my throat.

The moan breaks something in him and I can feel him tense before he pulls me up into his arms, giving me no choice but to wrap my legs around his hips if I want to hold on.

And I do, so desperately, want to hold on, I realize belatedly.

Then he’s turning us, pressing my back into the target, his body holding mine up, his hips cradled between mine, something hot and hard pressing against my core.

I can’t believe my actions. And I can’t stop myself. I don’t want to stop myself. I don’t even notice that I am rocking my hips against his until he bucks me solidly back against the board.

I throw my head back wantonly at his motion, and he presses his forehead into mine and closes his eyes tight.

“So I didn’t misread this then?” he chuckles after a moment, our intermingled breaths shallow and thick.

My instinct is to tease him back, to match his energy, but somehow I can feel the tension still in his hands, gripping into my hips. It seeps into me through my muscle and into my bones and whispers that something is not quite right—that he is not as relaxed as his voice purports. I can’t quite read what—I don’t know what to make of his mixed signals, his mismatched tones and movements. He clings to me even now but his soft question hangs in the air.

I kiss a line from the tip of his nose to his ear and whisper, “Tell me again what you read and I’ll tell you if it’s right.”

I feel his cheek move into a smile against my own and his voice appears in my ear, a breathy, shivery sound that sends tingles through me that I know he can feel. So much for playing coy.

“I read that you like to be challenged…" He nibbles my unbroken ear and I moan softly.

“Uh huh..”

“I read that you…” His teeth drag across my neck. “…don’t see much in these pansycake boys…”

I giggle lightly.

“I read…” He sucks on my pulse point. “that you…” He sucks again. “want someone who matches your fire…” His fingers tighten around my hips. “That you—want—me…” His voice catches on the word want, like he is censoring himself.

Every single word courses through me and I am so completely taken that I completely forget for a moment that I am in the arms of the most terrifying man I’ve ever met.

And that I like it.

I think he can feel the moment I remember where I am because he stiffens a little too and pulls back enough to burn his icey eyes into my own.

“How’d I do?” he asks as he slides my body down his own and back onto the floor between him and the target.

I am on my own two feet now but I feel even less stable. The loss of his weight is palpable.

I rally and pull myself back to the most confident voice I can muster when I am in such a vulnerable position. “It seems unfair that you can read me so well,” I admit, allowing the small bit of truth to hide my rising anxiety, “and you hide all your secrets behind those eyes.” My own eyes squint and glare into his, stormy and unreadable.

“Oh, I’m hiding, am I?” His eyes are still locked with mine, his hips steadying me in more ways than one.

“If you’re not a _pansycake_ , tell me what I should have read on you, then,” I challenge him sweetly.

I know the word is ridiculous, but it helps ease some of the tension and he steps back a tiny bit, and my lungs reinflate as my body becomes acutely aware of the empty space around me.

“Ok you’re on, stiff,” he chuckles to himself. “Let’s play a little game then.”

Before I can even open my mouth to ask, he answers my unspoken question.

“I will tell you my secrets—as you call them—if you do. One for one.”

He’s a couple steps away now and my body finally feels normal so I take the opportunity to step off the wall and pass around him.

“Fine, but since you already shared three of my secrets, I think I should get to hear three of yours first.”

“Deal. If you weren’t such a stiff you could probably read that I… hate being challenged. Except, for some reason, by you. I…” he circles around behind me, “have never seen anything of any value in any of these pansycakes before, but I…. _want_ you.”

Again his voice catches on the _want_ and his eyes flick away.

“Great confessions, but you'd never pass a Candor trial with that little bit there at the end,” I throw his signature smirk back at him.

His eyes shoot up in question.

“No I—“ he starts to protest, but I brazenly cover his mouth with my fingers to stop him.

“You say you want me.” Now I crowd into his space. “But I think that’s not what you really want to say. I think there’s more than that.”

I feel his jaw clench and unclench several times before I hear him audibly swallow.

“Why don’t you tell me then.”

“Well…I drive you insane,” I start.

He scoffs, but lets me continue.

“Sometimes you absolutely can’t stand me.”

His hand slides up my side and to my waist and grips me.

“But you don’t just _want_ me, not like this,” I gesture to the space between us.

“No?” he asks, pressing himself closer to me, so that I can feel that he is still somewhat hard beneath his uniform pants.

“No, I think you like me,” I state boldly. I smile, and I see a ghost of a smile cross his own lips. “I think you have a crush on me. I think you made up this whole game to get me to admit it before you do.”

“And I think—“ his lips move against my fingers and I lean in to cover his lips with mine, brushing a soft kiss that quiets him, and sliding my lips across his cheek to his ear.

“Be brave, Eric,” I whisper.

“Fine, you got me. You win stiff!” he laughs. “I am so fucking into you that I can’t stand to even look at you if I can’t touch you,” he growls, his hands roaming down to clutch my ass.

“Oh is that why you look so mad when you watch me in training?” I giggle, piecing things together in my head.

He pulls me to him abruptly, and holds me tightly.

“Are you going to make me beg you for an answer?” his voice rumbles in that deep molasses sound that makes my insides twist.

“An answer? I don’t think you’ve asked me any questions.”

He nearly growls and nips at my bottom lip aggressively.

“Tris Prior, will you be mine?”

“Yours?”

He leans his forehead on mine, and with it much of his weight, as if he is nearly falling down from my answer, not that I’ve meant to do this to him but I need to know what he means. There’s too much at stake to just jump in without all the facts.

He takes in a deep breath like he is preparing once again to explain himself to the ignorant stiff, when it suddenly becomes very clear to me that I don’t need to know what he means, or rather, I already do.

“Yes.” My answer catches him mid breath and he holds for a moment, just watching me. I can see in his eyes as he processes my word.

“Yes?”

“If you’ll be mine too,” I squeeze my arms around his neck fiercely.

He chuckles softly, and I feel it reverberate in his chest.

“You going to put your mark on me, little stiff? Afraid some other girl could steal me away?”

“No other girl would even dare,” I answer honestly. I don’t know if I mean because Eric literally scares everyone away or because I think I might too. “Why, are you afraid some guy will want to steal me? Is that why you gave me this?” I rub the spot where I know a hickey is forming on my pulse point.

“Oh hell yes, I can already think of at least one idiot who would try it, but after tonight not even that dumbass would be foolish enough to make a pass at my woman."

“What’s happening tonight?” my eyebrows shoot halfway up my forehead.

“I’m marching you right into the mess hall for dinner, so everyone in this place knows you’re mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever posted, so I'd love any feedback!


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